


String Theory

by fictorium



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Bikinis, Car Sex, Car Wash trope, F/F, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there's a car wash going on. Because charity. Because transparent reasons. Cat's got her newest Ferrari to take for a spin. What could possibly happen next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	String Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to kara-lesbihonest once more for beta duty AND coming up with a title that made me cackle. Thanks also to the rest of the #stealhvag squad.
> 
> I think this is my first time writing from Cat's POV? It was quite hard, but also a delight.

After a week of being shuttled around by semi-competent chauffeurs, Cat wakes up on Saturday morning with a burning desire to get behind the wheel and chart her own course, at least for a few hours. It’s proving to be one of those interminable weekends without Carter, the terms of the custody agreement too rigid for even Lucy Lane to find a loophole. There’s work - as always - but Cat finds herself too restless for a pile of documents awaiting signatures or lingering emails waiting for bold responses.

When she takes the keys from the small safe by the kitchen door, Cat smiles for what feels like the first time all week.

The coastal road is a delight to drive, still quiet at this early hour of the morning. Cat’s Ferrari 488 Spider handles like a dream, and she can feel every last hoofbeat of horse power every time she presses her Converse-clad foot down on the gas pedal. This car deserves grip and a light touch, and nothing in her extensive Louboutin collection would do. 

It’s a luxury to dress like this out in the world. Every day Cat dresses for battle, her silk blouses in place of an iron breastplate and Harry Winston’s finest as her gauntlets. There are always spikes at her heels and golden garrottes resting around her neck. But here, on a Saturday in the early flush of summer, she doesn’t have to be weaponized. She can wear her favorite, faithful ripped blue jeans. Her t-shirt is faded almost beyond salvaging but the Wellesley text is still splashed across her chest. With a scarf around her hair to combat the wilder effects of the wind and oversized sunglasses in place, she feels freer than almost any other time she can remember.

The traffic begins to snarl around her as she broaches the downtown area. It’s not exactly where she intended to end up, but the prospect of drive-thru Starbucks keeps Cat on course for the moment. With just a few edible provisions, she could keep driving and let the car really open up on the PCH, but the gnawing sense of untended responsibilities is already bubbling in the back of her mind.

While the baristas mix her specific blend of coffee, Cat checks her phone with the idea to fire off a text to Carter. Instead she has a pile of Facebook notifications about new pictures he’s posted. While it cheers her to see him smiling shyly in almost every shot, the old acid splash of jealousy runs up her throat at his father no doubt taking all the credit for any happiness Carter might experience. 

Facebook trills at her again, reminding her of some event she’s been invited to. Cat has never acknowledged one of those invitations in her life no matter how often Zuckerberg tries to get her attention. That can mean only one thing: Kara has been quietly messing with Cat’s account again.

Giving passwords and social media access to a trusted assistant is just the reality of the job now; Cat can’t trawl her mentions when entire divisions need restructuring. She has real employees that come before virtual ‘friends,’ but the last thing she’ll allow herself to become is behind on trends. Hell, there’s an unopened hover board in one of her guest rooms right now.

Charity is the first word that jumps out from the event heading, because of _course_ that’s the motivation for Kara’s interference. She never asks a single thing for herself, though she must know by now Cat would give her things that no other employee could dream of. Her coffee is finally ready, but Cat is still reading the event info when she accepts the drink at the next window. 

Apparently CatCo is sponsoring a charity car wash where people can be lectured about more environmentally responsible transport. Their Chevys and Fords will be wiped clean of dirt while well-meaning college grads try to push them toward hybrids they can’t afford or do their jobs in. That is not remotely on brand. Cat will have to summon the head of the foundation’s panel on Monday.

The car wash is in CatCo Plaza, a mere few blocks away. It would be churlish at this stage not to make an appearance, dressed for the occasion or not. Better people think she's dressed to wield a sponge, Cat supposes. It might even make Kara smile.

Which is not, of course, the point of anything at all.

When the Ferrari rolls to a stop, electric blue paint gleaming in the sun, Cat is surprised to see there’s quite a turnout for the event. Lucy and James seem to be leading a squad of employees from Art and Legal right out on the sidewalk. When James picks up a bucket and sponge to help with the cars still waiting, Lucy has the business sense to take his shirt right off him and let the man work in a gray tank top. 

The plaza is decked out with enough CatCo branding to be acceptable, even if it is interspersed with the clashing green of the environmental charity’s logos. There’s a dreadful acoustic band on a small soundstage near the center of the plaza, and Cat’s hatred of hippies makes a strong resurgence. The milling environmental nuts seem to be enjoying it though. Beyond the stage is a ‘parking’ area where the bulk of the car washing and leaflet pushing is happening. Giant screens beam suggestions for using the car less, along with adverts for more ecologically-friendly drives. Cat knows that Kara has been wasting time on this for weeks, but she still wasn’t expecting an event she might actually be proud to attend.

Wolf the walking cardigan is directing cars out of the plaza after their washes, and Cat starts the engine again with the button on the steering wheel. She nips around the corners in no time, rolling into the improvised parking lot that sits directly outside the official employee lot for CatCo. Kara even had the sense to hold the event outdoors in the sun instead of the gas-tinged gloom of general parking. The girl is improving by the week.

“Miss Grant!” Worm greets her, almost bending double to reach the sporty height of her window. At least he knows better than to talk down to her through the open-top. “Kara will be so pleased you’re here.” He isn’t actually wearing a cardigan for once, Cat notes. He looks almost interesting in a band t-shirt and boardshorts, clearly borrowed for another ill-advised attempt at winning Kara’s affections, but even Adam has struck out there. Is it really possible the girl’s standards are that high?

“Where is Keira?” Cat demands, not bothering to lower her sunglasses. 

“Oh I can do your car for you,” Wilt offers. “It’s a real beauty, Miss Grant. This is the Spider, right?”

“Right,” Cat snaps. “As you can see, it’s also immaculate. No amateurs are touching this bodywork.”

“Well, here’s Kara anyway,” he grunts, before taking off at considerable pace. Cat can guarantee he isn’t going anywhere out of her line of sight, though, not when the milling crowd finally parts and she sees Kara heading toward her, gently swinging a plastic bucket and grasping a sponge in one capable hand. Cat has to focus on the accessories, because she doesn’t trust herself to look anywhere else for the moment. 

Kara Danvers, who owns at least fifteen bland cardigans and favors hemlines that wouldn’t be out of place on The Flying Nun, is working the charity car wash in a bikini top and short shorts. 

It’s not just any bikini—it’s a deep red number that’s barely two triangles and a bit of strategic string. Cat swallows hard, because Jesus Christ those abs should be a minor felony. The shorts, well, those should be tragic in their sad denim cut-offness, but with legs that long they look intentional and impossibly flattering. 

Cat notices her pulse. It’s hammering so hard that it wouldn’t surprise her if her heart burst right out of her chest. 

“Miss Grant!” Kara waves the sponge at her. Muscles ripple in places Cat didn’t know rippling could occur. Lines elongate and deepen, and it’s a Herculean effort for Cat not to lick her lips. Who knew her assistant was hiding a Swimsuit Issue body under those sad Forever 21 frumpfests? 

With a complete lack of guilt, Cat leverages herself up to kneel on the driver’s seat. She takes the half-cup of latte that remains and promptly pours it down her windshield and lets the lukewarm liquid splash all over the hood too. 

“Keira,” Cat greets Kara while she sits back in her seat. “It appears my car is…”

“Dirty?” Kara volunteers. Cat blinks so rapidly she fears she might pass out. 

“Filthy,” she agrees. “It’s going to take specialized attention. This is not your sorority sister’s hand-me-down Cadillac.”

“I can get it polished right up,” Kara assures her, drawing closer and leaning dangerously close to Cat. With the roof down it seemed pointless to keep the side windows up, but that has left her totally exposed on one side. “But let me guess, you don’t want this expensive thing in line with the rest of the crowd?”

“You do pay attention sometimes,” Cat teases. “Where is there a more private space?”

“Just around the corner,” Kara suggests with a wink. “If you drive through the employee lot, there’s a nice little courtyard.” Cat’s familiar with the space; it was originally her private parking garage, and it has the benefit of no longer having a roof.

“What about all these other people? All this charity?” Cat can’t resist testing it. They’ve been dancing around whatever this tension is for a long time, but today Kara has engineered the situation, and dressed to win, if not kill.

“There’s still such a thing as VIP treatment,” Kara decides. “And you are sponsoring the whole event, after all.”

“Good answer.” Cat starts the engine and revs it a few times before slipping the car into gear. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Kara rarely does.

In fact, Cat has barely finished parking before Kara reappears. There’s a thick green hose draped over her shoulders, and she’s swinging that pail again like some kind of insanely attractive milkmaid. It’s really possible the girl has no idea the effect she has. Why else would she dress like that for a wholesome charitable event?

“Ready?” Kara connects the hose to a tap on the wall. “You might want to put the roof back up?”

“No, you’ll just have to take your time,” Cat informs her. “Be very, very careful. One scratch on this body and you’re fired.”

“You don’t mean that,” Kara mutters as she adjusts her glasses. “Actually, could you take these? There’s no point in them getting splashed.”

Cat holds out her hand to accept the glasses, but Kara leans across her and taps the release on the glove compartment. 

“There,” Kara says as she straightens up. “You don’t need that scarf while you’re stationary, do you?”

Cat rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses, and unknots the silk under her chin. She lets the crumpled square of Hermès’ finest flutter into the passenger seat. “I didn’t realize charity work came with a dress code.”

“You look good,” Kara offers the compliment, as always, without agenda. “I never get to see you casual.”

“Get to work.” Cat actually snaps her fingers. She’s going to get caught staring if the girl doesn’t start moving around. Kara complies, splashing the first wave of soapy water haphazardly over the shiny blue hood.

She clearly has some semblance of technique, because between bending and crouching on either side of the car, then lavishing some attention on the front headlights, Kara is being very thorough about soaping up the metal. It’s when she comes around the driver’s side to swirl the yellow sponge over the door that Cat realizes how much soap and water is splashing back onto Kara’s bare skin. Her bikini top is already three shades darker, and her shorts are starting to cling even more than they already did. 

This time, Cat can’t help but bite her bottom lip. It’s the only way to stop herself from saying anything suggestive. Kara rewards her restraint, seemingly, by disappearing around the back of the car. The girl knows the value of a job done well. 

“Windows up,” Kara orders when she comes back into sight. Cat almost doesn’t hear the explanation as she gets to see those shorts from the back. She’s trying desperately not to be the midlife crisis cliché, but Kara Danvers has an ass that would have distracted Mother Theresa from collecting orphans. “It’s going to be hard enough not to get any water on the inside. I’m going to have to rinse really carefully.”

“Whatever you say,” Cat sighs, jabbing at the switch. The flimsy protection of glass does nothing to cool her raging state of arousal. Kara comes back over with the water at a trickle. She repeats her circuit with less bending and leaning this time, but she uses her hand on the top edges to stop any water spilling. It only serves to show Cat how close they are to being able to touch at long last.

“I forgot the windshield,” Kara groans. “Okay, let me just get that…”

She leans across to soap up the glass, one leg elongated behind her for balance. Cat’s stare scorches every lightly-tanned inch, only to return her attention to the rapidly-clearing windshield (when did Kara get a squeegee? Why the hell does that matter?) and the sight of those toned abs rippling as Kara stretches. Cat has to focus on the abs because the bounce of incredibly perky breasts straining to escape the confines of wet lycra is not something Cat’s brain can handle right now. Her clit certainly can’t handle it either, and shifting position only serves to rub the seam of her goddamned traitorous jeans in the worst (best) possible way. 

It’s possible she gasps. Kara, to her credit, doesn’t react.

“I’m all wet,” she complains a moment later, apparently done with rinsing. She’s standing on the driver’s side again, where Cat can’t help looking at her. She puts the window back down without being asked. “Did you want me inside, Miss Grant?”

“What?” Cat snaps, pushing her Tom Fords up on top of her head. Kara has to be screwing with her. For the first time, Cat sees the hint of a smile play across Kara’s otherwise serious expression. The scheming little witch has known exactly what she’s been doing this whole time.

“I’m afraid I don’t give up the driver’s seat for anyone,” Cat attempts to wrestle back control of the situation. “No matter how hot you are… from all the exertion.”

“Oh, cooling down is easy,” Kara informs her. She pulls her hair out of its loose ponytail and lets it fall around her shoulders. Picking up the hose again, she runs it up over each leg in turn, her flip flops splashing as she takes a few steadying steps. Then the water is cascading over her stomach, Kara drawing lazy lines with it before soaking each breast in turn. She lets it fall over her hair next, trickling down her face and the elegant lines of her throat. 

“Kara-”

“If you get out of the car, I can get you wet, too.” Kara issues the challenge with a level tone in her voice. She’s planned this. She’s getting everything exactly as she wanted. Normally that would irritate Cat, but Kara is too damn seductive to refuse.

“Drop that,” Cat orders. “And get over here, dammit.”

Kara does as she’s told, the hose skittering around the stone floor and spreading water everywhere. Cat knows she should care about the drought but God, can’t one nagging practicality wait? Kara places both hands on the edge of Cat’s door, and dips her head close enough to kiss. Cat runs one fingertip under the wet string that comprises one side of Kara’s flimsy halter-neck tie, and this time Kara is the one to gasp. Her skin is fire and soothing balm at once under Cat’s touch. The slickness of water on skin almost hides the heat radiating from Kara’s body.

Reaching down in a way that deliberately brushes Cat’s thigh, Kara opens the door.

“This car is ridiculous,” she huffs, but she folds herself in some kind of yoga pose to straddle Cat’s lap. “An SUV would have killed you?”

“You’re dripping on my upholstery,” Cat counters, not allowing herself to touch again, not so soon. She won’t be that desperate. 

“Not yet,” Kara whispers, and this time when she leans in, she claims her kiss. Cat expected tentative pecks, or at least some kind of fluttery nonsense. Instead Kara kisses her like they just stopped kissing a second ago, like they’ve been doing it for years and only improved with time. Cat yields to her determination, but the technique is a pleasant surprise. She hasn’t been kissed so thoroughly in years, and she likes to think she gives as good as she’s getting. No one has ever complained that Cat Grant doesn’t know exactly what to do with her mouth.

“What took you so long?” She murmurs against Kara’s jaw, kissing her way to the tender skin beneath her ear. Kara tastes clean, almost refreshing, and Cat sucks hard enough to mark her. She’s momentarily stunned when the flush of deep pink fades completely after a second. No matter, there’s so much more still to explore, and Kara is already shifting impatiently in her lap. By the time Cat trills her tongue in the hollow at the base of Kara’s throat, she’s worked up enough to slam back against the horn, sounding a short, sharp blast that could alert way too many people.

Usually Cat would panic. Usually Cat would halt their progress and get them indoors, or at least into a darker corner. Usually she wouldn’t be fucking her assistant in the front seat of the newest car in her considerable collection, but usually could go to hell as far as this particular Saturday was concerned. 

Yes, caution could fuck right off in the face of Kara flicking her damp hair back like she was running through the surf for a Calvin Klein ad, reaching behind her own neck to untie the bikini.

“Please,” Kara groans as she cradles Cat’s head closer to newly-exposed and very hard nipples. “Cat, please.”

The first name is one thing Kara’s held out on all this time, and it’s a detonation within Cat. One syllable should not hold that much power, but instead of responding she swirls her tongue around one of those waiting nipples, alternating with the short, sharp sucks that have already worked so well on Kara’s neck.

“I knew it would be good,” Kara practically sobs, fumbling with Cat’s well-worn shirt and yanking it over her head. “So, so good.”

“Hmm,” Cat hums against Kara’s breast, and that just makes her hips grind down even harder this time. It’s a timely reminder to pop the button on that scrap of denim. 

“Did you know,” Kara returns the favour with Cat’s jeans, motioning her up so she can tug them down just a bit for better access. “That I’m ambidextrous?”

“Big word for someone this turned on,” Cat mocks, releasing Kara for just a moment to drink in the sight of her, wet-haired, half-naked, and utterly wanton on Cat’s lap. It’s enough to make her think the waiting and near-unbearable tension of the past few months has been worth it. “What are you going to… oh!”

Kara’s right hand slips beneath the waistband of Cat’s silk panties. Casual Saturday is no excuse for less than fabulous underwear, and Kara already seems quite taken with the matching ivory bra. With her left, Kara decides to prove that dexterity, fingers slipping beneath her own denim. The cry when she makes first contact with her clit is almost enough to send Cat hurtling over the edge, but she bites her lip and concentrates on Kara’s determined rubbing of her own sex. This first time couldn’t find finesse with a map and a dictionary, but Cat has never wanted that less.

“Touch me,” Kara pleads, and Cat is only too happy to oblige. She cups those delicate curves this time, taking in the visuals as she flicks with both thumbs in alternating rhythms. “Next time, I’ll-”

“Ssh,” Cat warns. “This is.... yes,” she finishes weakly, vocabulary beginning to suffer with the tensing of her muscles. She’s going to go off like a goddamned rocket and she hasn’t done even a fraction of the things she wants to with Kara. Ever helpful, Kara increases her speed and the strength behind her strokes is nothing short of extraordinary. When Cat finally cries out, her whole body aflame, Kara kisses the happy sounds right off her tongue. It’s somehow the most intimate part of the whole thing.

Kara comes hard a little later, when Cat’s head is lolling a little against the headrest and she’s trying to catch her breath. She’d prefer to have been more personally responsible for Kara’s climax, but it occurs to her that this doesn’t have to end here, cramped into the limited space of an admittedly tiny sports car.

When Kara withdraws her fingers from Cat’s now-soaked underwear, she takes great delight in licking them clean. Cat returns the favor by tugging Kara’s hand free from her shorts, performing a slow, elaborate ritual of licking and sucking that has Kara wide-eyed and already breathing heavily again at the prospect of more.

“We have to get out of this car,” Cat suggests as Kara falls into something like a hug with her. “And we need to put something back on before your colleagues come looking for you.”

“I think you should take me for a ride,” Kara argues, although she hands Cat her t-shirt and starts retying her own bikini. “I don’t feel like getting wet over anyone else’s car today.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” Cat admits with a possessive little snarl to the words. “You realize that a dam has broken here, yes?”

“God, I hope so,” Kara moans, folding herself into the passenger seat. “For a start, this scarf seems like it might have a lot of practical applications,” she suggests, pulling it out from underneath her. “You don’t mind that I orchestrated most of this in the hope of getting you to… you know?”

“Fuck you?” Cat supplies, and she doesn’t miss Kara’s delighted shudder even though she’s gunning the engine. “It was about time you took the initiative. Do you need to say goodbye to these people, or can the world survive without you?”

“Let’s go,” Kara decides. “The sooner we’re on the move, the sooner I get to find out what else we can do. I should warn you, I’m kind of … insatiable sometimes?”

“Oh,” Cat deadpans as they pulls back out into the parking lot. “What a pity. However will I cope?”

“This is definitely my new favorite car,” Kara sighs, tying the scarf around her head as an impromptu headband, and Cat doesn’t even consider complaining about the misuse of silk. 

“That doesn’t mean you ever get to drive it.” Cat shifts gears once they’re out on the street, falling into place with the traffic but impatient for the open roads that brought her here just a short time before. “Not even Supergirl could handle these speeds.”

Kara mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “Mach 3,” but Cat lets it slide. She’s too content to go digging—at least for now.


End file.
